


Sunset Spectacle

by honebami



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Anxiety, Dysphoria, Fluff, M/M, Nonbinary Oma Kokichi, Trans Saihara Shuichi, asexual ouma kokichi, it s a common tag now !!!, once again the tags of my life, pokemon coordinator au, possibly implied spoilers ?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-02-01 05:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12698331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honebami/pseuds/honebami
Summary: Saihara investigates a Pokémon thief and gets something of his own stolen along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to claus, kiki and star for betaing, and star for the summary idea ! credit to kokichiouma for the menace pun !
> 
> i ve never attempted a chaptered fic before; more likely than not i won t be able to finish this, but i hope you like it regardless !
> 
> please note: there are a couple instances of misgendering in this fic, so be careful if that s upsetting for you
> 
> thank you so much for reading !!

Saihara shifted from foot to foot as he craned his neck up to the sign that read "Hau'oli Pokémon Contest Hall." He was certainly in the right place; the flyers printed with the previous Alola contest supreme champion that peppered the window were enough to tell him that. 

He pulled out his journal, a sleek black book emblazoned with a stripe of piano keys, and flipped through the warm-worn pages. A flurry of handwriting unreadable to anyone else – a security measure, mind you, not simply a result of anxious hands – splayed out case notes and reminders and the occasional attempt at mystery drafts until he stopped and thumbed open the saught page.

Pokémon theft: a shiny Popplio, the latest victim in a string of thefts in Alola. Male, modest natured, hatched into a Pokéball, level one; last seen on Isle Avue. Defining characteristics: has a thin scar along its left flipper. Current suspects –

"Alola!" A girl with her hair in pigtails waved one of the flyers in his face. Saihara grabbed the edge of his hat. "Please take a flyer! It's what God wants," she said, her voice floaty and unperturbed.

“Uh, um, t-thank you.” He tugged his hat down.

She held the flyer further out to him. "So, are you gonna take it? Or are you not?" She rocked from side to side.

His face flushed. "S-Sorry." The glossy paper of the flyer greased under his fingers. "Thank you, uh, again."

"Don't mind, don't mind!" she sang. "Angie hopes you have fun! If you seek guidance from God, please speak with Angie."

Saihara looked down at the flyer. A figure with bright purple hair and a lavender Brionne grinned back at him. "This is the previous supreme champion, Kokichi Ouma, correct? Will they be here?"

"Oh, yes!" She clasped her hands together. "Their performances are truly divine! If you hurry in and sign up, you might be able to see them before the contest starts."

"I-I see. Thank you."

Saihara held the flyer against his notes. You wouldn't see if you weren't seeking it out, blended in as a shadow or a smear, but along the underside of the pictured Brionne's flipper lay a thin scar.

Just as he thought. Saihara folded the flyer, tucked it between the pages, and put away his journal before pulling out his Xtransceiver. "Ms. Kirigiri," he messaged, "I have a lead."

Saihara tucked his Xtransceiver into his pocket and tapped his finger against his chin. Through the glass windows of the hall, a large boy with a Joltik and a Caterpie nestled in his wild hair was listening to a much shorter boy with a Glameow, a man with purple hair who was too tall to be Ouma was laughing with his Minior, and a petit red haired girl with a Misdreavus was being fussed over by a taller girl with a Mienshao. The girl with the Mienshao snapped her eyes up to meet Saihara's. He ducked his face under his hat.

If he went in to wait for Ouma now, it could be less stressful than going in when there would be more people, but it was more likely that he'd stand out; if he waited, he could catch Ouma before they entered, but trying to talk to them outside rather than with the excuse of being a fellow competitor could be more difficult. At this rate, though, the decision would be made for him by the passing of time.

The door slammed open before he could ponder further. "You! Menace!"

Saihara blinked up from his thoughts. The girl he had made eye contact with glared at him. "Uh… do you mean me?"

She huffed. "Do you see any other menaces peeping in windows around here? You're even getting all sweaty from it too. Tenko saw you, and she won't stand for it!"

"Wh-N-No!" Saihara raised his hands. "I wasn't trying to peep, I'm just... uh... anxious."

In sync, Tenko and her Mienshao took a fighting stance. "Anxious to be lecherous, I'm sure! There's no other reason you'd be lurking outside the window this early!"

"I'm not! I've just- never entered a Pokémon contest before." He tugged on his hat.

The white haired girl hopped over to them and laid a warm hand on Tenko’s shoulder. "God says that this is a good boy," she said. "He was looking for Kokichi."

A good boy… Saihara glanced down to the flyer. "Y-Yeah, that's right. I'm sorry."

"Hmph! Well, in that case," Tenko lowered her hands, "Tenko is very sorry she misunderstood! In return, even though you're a menace, she will help you sign up! Come on!" She held the door open.

"I'm not... actually..." He trailed off at Tenko's expectant stare. "Thank you," he managed instead. He nodded towards her as he entered.

The patter of chatter hummed around him within the contest hall. He ducked his head down from the blurs of bright eyes. The pearled curl of a tropical floral reflected light at his feet.

"The counter to sign up at is just over here," said Tenko at his side. "Can you handle the rest on your own?"

"Um, yeah." He held his arm. "Thank you for helping me. I appreciate it."

Tenko crossed her arms and huffed. "Tenko doesn't need thanks from a menace! If you want to thank her, give it all you've got in the contest! That will make Yumeno's victory over you all as incredible as possible!"

"S-Sure..."

He wished her a silent apology before shuffling up to the registration desk and fixing his eyes on the bright-stitched smile of a Popplio doll. "Hello, I'm here to register for the contest," he said.

"Alola. Please fill out this form," answered a motherly voice, "and take this pen." The attendant slid the form towards him and handed him a pen topped by a Rockruff made from pom-poms. Drips of dried glue drooled out from where its fuzzy body was attached. "Miss Yonaga made these pens as a gift for our participants, to raise awareness for Ten-Carat Hill Pokémon conservation. Entry to the competition is free, but please, do consider donating."

"Oh, I-I see." He fumbled change into the Popplio-topped donation box before turning back to the form. He pinched the pen tight. Name- Shuuichi Saihara, age- seventeen; the aggressive jiggling of the Rockruff pen's googly eyes was certainly distracting; gender- he paused for a beat too long before swallowing and circling 'M' with a touch more pressure than necessary; competing Pokémon- Furret, Togekiss, Litten; previous contest experience- none; date, signature-

The door slammed open behind him, and the wave of chatter poured itself towards the newcomer. Saihara spun around.

The light spilling in through the doors haloed their silhouette. Standing tall, despite their short stature, was Kokichi Ouma themself, a wild grin curled across their face. A Mimikyu wearing a checkered ribbon perched cheek-to-cheek with them on their shoulder. "Alola!" Ouma called as they waved their hands high.

Saihara pushed the paper back to the attendant with a quiet thanks and marched up to Ouma. "K-Kokichi Ouma-" Saihara jumped as the doors hit closed behind them.

Ouma leaned forward and grinned up at Saihara under his hat. "Hewwo? Don’t you seem nervous!" They tilted their head to one side. "Could it be? A cute boy here to confess to cute little me? Aren't I lucky!" They straightened back up and flicked their cape. "That's a lie though. Confessing to someone you don't know a thing about is as boring as it gets.”

"N-No! I," Saihara took a deep breath and held a hand to his face before holding out his badge, "I'm a detective with the international police. I'd like to ask you some questions."

They stared back at him, their face blank, violet eyes clouded and still. Murmurs rustled and rose from the lull. The sound circled around the two in a hungry chorus. Saihara’s arm gave into light trembles.

Ouma's eyes flickered down for only a second before they snatched the badge from Saihara's hand. 

"H-Hey, what are you-"

"Shuuichi Saihara, huh?" A cheerful beam replaced Ouma's blank face as they inspected the badge. "How interesting! Did you enter this contest just to catch me?"

Saihara reached for his badge, but Ouma simply swerved around him. "W-Well, I-"

Ouma whispered something to their Mimikyu, who made a small noise and dashed into shadows, and turned back to Saihara. "That's adorable! You want to interrogate me, right? You'll have lots of time to."

Saihara's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Mimikyu returned, a familiar Rockruff-topped pen held in its shadowy claw, and clambered onto Ouma's shoulder. "We're partners now!" Ouma nuzzled Mimikyu and grinned. "It's too late to go back. Mimi here signed the contract for you. You're bound to me, body and soul, til the end of time!"

Saihara took a stuttered step backward. "W-What are you..."

They stuck their tongue out. "Just kidding! Obviously. She actually wrote your name in the Death Note. You're gonna get swallowed whole by a Loudred and then you're gonna die!"

_"What?"_

They laughed. "Aww, were you scared? Don't worry. I'm both a liar and murderphobic! But geez, did you really not even know this was a partner competition?" They rolled their eyes. “Let me guess… were you thinking that you'd enter to get in here, accuse me, and then I'd confess and you could just leave?" They put their hands on their hips. "You'd better take this seriously!"

"Aren't you the one who isn't taking this seriously? I'm not... Accusing you of anything. I just want to ask you some questions," said Saihara.

"You're already lying to me? How annoying! And I'll have you know, I'm always serious." Ouma pouted.

Saihara made to respond, but a static bell rang out over his voice. "Contestants, please make your way to the dressing rooms."

The clustered hush of those watching stirred to chattering life as pairs of bodies poured through the doors. Ouma tugged on Saihara's sleeve. "Well, come on! We're pair number eight." Saihara lightly nodded and let himself be dragged through the tide.

The double doors opened into what looked like a gymnasium, peppered with a rainbow of numbered tents. The other contestants were already running forward, not to these tents, but to tables suggest throughout the room. 

The announcer's voice rang out again. "The theme of tonight's contest is 'sunset'. You have fifteen minutes to dress yourselves and your Pokémon."

"Alright, let's get started!" Ouma clapped their hands. "Mimi, use Shadow Sneak and grab whatever fits!"

Mimi's costume head flopped forward and back. She melted into the shadows of the crowd of contestants, who were clamouring over a table laden with a rainbow sea of fabric and accessories that caught the glittering glare of the lights.

"Uh, Ouma, what's going on?" asked Saihara.

"Oh, right, you don't know anything. To keep the contests fair for everyone, contestants choose from the same pool of costume materials here," Ouma explained. "Rather than it be determined by what you can afford, now it's what you can rip out of someone else's hands!"

Saihara looked back at the crowd. "Wait, then, shouldn't we...?"

Ouma waved a hand. "No worries! Just leave everything to Mimi. You should let your Pokémon for this round out, too."

"Right..." Saihara tossed a Pokéball into the air. Litten burst out, scrabbled up into Saihara's arms, and blinked its golden eyes at Ouma slowly.

Ouma held a hand out for Litten to sniff before giving it a scratch behind the ears. "Aww, you're fresh from Professor Kukui, aren't you?"

“Yeah, it is,” Saihara answered. Professor Kukui was the one who had suggested Saihara go see the Pokémon contest; he'd shown Saihara a video of Ouma and their Brionne, and the suspicion wouldn't leave Saihara's mind until he could confirm for himself. Litten purred against Ouma's palm. "You... seem to be good with Pokémon.”

"What's with that tone? Of course I am." Ouma paused their petting and locked eyes with Saihara. "The truth is,” they breathed out, “I'm not a human at all. I'm just a Ditto using transform."

Their face was still, and their gaze was unwavering from his own. Had it been anyone else, he might have believed them. Saihara sighed. "Dittos can't use transform to turn into humans. And even if they could, they wouldn't be able to talk."

"Are you sure?" asked Ouma. Their violet-ice eyes stared into him. "What do you think makes a human different from a Pokémon?"

"Well, I- guaah!"

Mimikyu popped out from Saihara's shadow, covered in a glitz of oranges and navy-purples. "Nice work, Mimi!" Ouma scooped the fabrics into their arms. "Nice work on the scream too, Saihara. Now, it’s time to change!"

Ouma pushed him through a creamsicle-orange curtain adorned by an applique number eight. Inside the tent, a trio of mirrors set upon a spacious red table reflected their figures in thirds.

Ouma splayed the bundle of fabric in their arms out. "Mimi, you know what you're doing with Litten, right?" The Mimikyu nodded its head forward. "Alright, I'm leaving it to you!" Ouma high fived its shadowy claw. It beckoned Litten over and began to pull through the accessories as Litten hopped from Saihara's arms onto the table.

"Litten too?" Saihara asked.

"Mhm!" Ouma didn't look up from the clothes. "You obviously don't know what you're doing, and seeing as your Litten is clearly a baby, it's probably pretty overwhelmed itself. Mimi's a fashion expert, so it'll help out."

Litten mewled as Mimikyu wrapped an orange shawl around its shoulders. "I thought the coordinators were supposed to dress their Pokémon," Saihara said. "You must trust each other."

"Why do you sound so surprised? I'm hurt, Saihara, I really am." Ouma grinned. "Anyway, the key to the fashion show portion of a pair contest is coordination not only between trainer and Pokémon, but between trainers themselves. But seeing as you seem to have no clue what you're doing, I'll doll you up!"

Saihara scanned over the ruffled rainbow of frills and swallowed back the trembling heat under his binder. "So... We both have to dress up too?"

"Obviously! The theme is sunset, and Mimi here said she wants to be the sun and the stars with Litten, so we can be shades of the night sky." Ouma held a swathe of shimmering midnight against Saihara's chest.

Saihara pushed them away. "Don't- I'm not- I don't feel comfortable with... with wearing dresses." 

He prayed Ouma would leave it at that, but they only stared back like a ripple-kissed pool. Their face twisted into a scowling pout. "What, do you think boys shouldn't wear dresses? How boring."

"N-No, that's not what I meant! For... personal reasons." He held his arm. "Sorry I pushed you. I think boys like you who wear dresses are great, really."

Ouma hummed, then popped their narrowed face into a bubbly smile. "Okay! You passed the test, so I can let you go."

"Wh-"

"I'm just kidding! Geez, if I was gonna kidnap you, you'd actually have something to arrest me over!" They rummaged through the accessories. "Ghost taxes are bad enough, but ghost court? Trust me, it's not fun even for a detective. I've been there!" 

Saihara fumbled with his hands. “If you say so…”

Ouma held a deep blue rose up and closed one eye. “How do flowers feel?"

The fluorescent lights glinted off the lip of glitter along each petal’s edge. “I… guess they feel alright.” In truth, he quite liked them, less so the artificial representation than the calm scent of them alive, but it was hard to shake the idea that it was something he shouldn't. 

"Woah, are you a flower detective? If you can understand how a flower feels, maybe you could even understand me." Ouma giggled. "As if. Can I clip this in your hair, then?"

"Uh, sure."

Ouma skipped over to him, braced their hand on his shoulder, and pushed up onto their toes. The back of a soft hand brushed against his cheek as the flower's metal clip bit into his hair.

"There we go!" Ouma stepped back and nodded. "Aren't you handsome. Well, I'm gonna get changed! If you peek, I'll have to kill you for real." They dumped a pile of fabric into Saihara's arms. "Here, put this on. It's all stuff you can put on over your clothes, so even an amateur can handle it." They nudged Saihara out through the swish of orange curtain.

Saihara let out a sigh. What did they want? What were they trying to do? He held up the clothes Ouma had given him: a deep blue vest, and a cape that washed and billowed in waves. He fumbled over the buttons. He'd get a chance to speak to Ouma after this. There was no way he'd let them get away now that he was so close.

“Whoo! Looking cool, Saihara!” Ouma pushed through the curtain with a flourish and twirled on their feet to face away from him. “Now, zip me up!" 

The open zipper spread the bright fabric of their sunlight dress open across their back. "Uh, okay.” He pulled the zipper up with sweaty palms and tried to ignore the way his knuckles brushed against the pale chill of their skin.

"Aww, how domestic! You passed the second test. Aren't you talented?" Ouma stepped away and spun back around. "Okay, are you ready for some heads to roll?"

"Um, you mean 'turn', right...?"

"Isn't that what I said?" Ouma shrugged. "Anyways! The announcer is gonna call our names any moment now. You’d better perform well, or we'll get tomatoes pelted at us!"

It was probably a lie, but Saihara couldn't help the tremble through his body. "O-Okay, so we just have to..."

Ouma jut out their finger. "Walk straight, on a line, head high, look sublime!” they sang as they strut towards him, “turn around, on a dime, steal a heart, commit a crime! Easy peasy!"

Saihara sighed. "Ouma... please take this seriously. Don't joke about committing crimes if you don't want to incriminate yourself."

"Who says I'm joking? Maybe I want a cute detective to steal me away," said Ouma with a wink and a finger gun. "Bang! That would make you a criminal too, though!"

"...Look. I know you're just trying to distract me, but that's not going to work." It was definitely working. "I'll do this with you, but afterwards, I need to question you. And if you don't comply, I have the authority to take you into police custody." He didn't, actually, but hopefully his bluff would –

"Saihara, that's adorable, but bluffing won't work on me!"

God damnit.

They huffed and put their hands on their hips. “Lying is my job, dummy! And nobody bluffs like I do, so don't even bother."

"Well, then... Couldn't you be the one bluffing right now?"

A musical tone sounded out before Ouma could respond. "Next up is pair number eight, newcomer Shuuichi Saihara and previous supreme champion Kokichi Ouma!"

Ouma grabbed Saihara's wrist. "That's our cue! Down the aisle we go!" They pulled him to the curtain. "Just follow my lead. You're a greasy nobody and I'm the supreme champion, so don't worry! No one will even look at you!"

Saihara pulled his wrist free. "Is... that supposed to comfort me?"

Ouma stuck their tongue out. "Well, you do kinda look like you're about to die. See, aren't I caring? Would I do something illegal?"

The answer to that was an overwhelming "yes," but Saihara kept his mouth shut.

From the side of the stage, Angie approached them. "Okay Kokichi, Shuuichi, it's your turn! God blesses your performance!”

Hot stagelight glared down on them through the spread of the curtain as Angie pulled it open. Saihara flinched and and reached for his cap, but where was it, what could he hold on to- right, he was dressed for the contest; he pinched the velvet petal of the hair flower instead as he followed Ouma forward.

They were a blur of orange and purple on his left, a few steps ahead. Their voice, calling out to the crowd, thumped into him with the thick blend of music and cheers. He had to walk; walk straight; how did Ouma's silly rhyme go? Litten was in front of him, Ouma's Mimikyu next to it; Not much further to the end. He gulped and glanced up through his bangs. 

There actually weren't that many people, and, not that he had expected it, no one seemed to have tomatoes. A breath of relief escaped him. By his side, Ouma's purple eyes shone under the bright lights. They caught his eye and grinned at him before turning back to wave at the audience.

Like this, they seemed like not just a playful kid, but a champion who radiated strength like the sun they were dressed to match. It was too loud and too bright to be anywhere near his comfort here, but if he was walking alongside the supreme champion themself, the least he could do was raise his head too.

His eyes met rows of cheering faces. He pushed up a weak smile of his own, folded a half hearted wave, and under the beating sounds, he heard a whisper.

"Hey, she's cute, huh?"

Saihara's vision blurred. He'd been small, he wasn't sure quite what grade, but he'd been on stage like this before, been pushed along until he couldn't get out of it, stuck playing a part and wearing a dress and she's so cute, that's my daughter, rang the whispers humming proud before him in the front row and they didn't see him then and they didn't now; but really, this whispered curse was probably talking about Ouma, because they were the one in a dress, but how could he possibly feel any relief at that; walk straight, on a line, but he didn't think he could manage even the first part and Ouma was right he was sweaty his face was hot and wet and the clip of the flower pulled at his hair and-

His hand and arm were pressed close against a body. Fingertips dug into his skin. He breathed an ocean wave, pulling back and sighing forward, and held to the pressure of the skin against him. He focused his bleary gaze on the white outline of a scar as he felt himself turn around and on shaky legs, walk back, guided along by the heat.

 

Ouma led him down into a chair and closed the changing room's curtain behind them. It was quieter now, the clamour of crowding having given away into a stilled hum of breath and clicks. Saihara ran his fingers over Litten's fur.

A cold bottle was tapped against his hand. He followed the line of the arm up to see Ouma staring down at him with an inscrutable expression. They tapped the bottle against him again. "Earth to Saihara," they whispered in a squeaky voice. "Drink me, drink me!"

Saihara opened his hands, and Ouma pushed the bottle of water into his grip. He stared at it for a tired moment before attempting to twist the cap, but his hands were too slippery and his strength too given out to open it.

Wordlessly, Ouma put their hands over his and twisted it open.

"Th-Thanks..." he murmured. He held the bottle to his lips with quivering hands.

Ouma stared at him as he drank, their face still. "You might not believe this, but I lied earlier."

Saihara stopped drinking. "What do you mean?"

Ouma flopped a hand in the air. "Right? Someone like me would never tell a lie. But you know how I said you couldn't back out? That's not actually true."

Saihara's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying..."

"You can't quit all on your own, of course! But a pair is free to drop out of the contest at any time.” Ouma's eyes were set, and their mouth was pressed thin. "So, we're done here."

God, he'd really messed up, hadn't he? As a detective and as a partner. The latter shouldn't bother him, it hadn’t been his choice, but to not be able to handle just walking straight, to be so horrible that Ouma would rather quit the competition than be seen with him again... "I'm-I'm really sorry," he managed.

Ouma jut a finger out towards him. Saihara flinched. "Geez, what do you have to be sorry for? I just got bored of this contest, so I don't want to bother anymore. Don't give yourself so much credit."

The plastic bottle crinkled in Saihara’s hand. "You are a liar, aren't you.” Ouma blinked back at him. "You don't need to lie to spare my feelings. A contest supreme champion wouldn't just get bored and quit in the middle of a contest. And I... I saw how your eyes sparkled. You really love performing, don't you?" he said. "I ruined things for you. It's my fault. I'm sorry."

The light circled off the rim of the bottle. "Woah, you really are a detective,” Ouma said softly. Saihara didn't look up. "I can't believe you would force me to be honest. What a pain! Okay, I'm not bored. I haven't had this much fun in ages!" Ouma put their hands on their hips. "But you, obviously, are not."

"I'm sorry," Saihara repeated. His face burned. "I didn't mean to, but- I must have wrecked it for you."

"Sai-ha-ra!" Ouma squatted and peered under his bangs. "You didn't wreck anything, silly Zangoose! You're giving yourself way too much credit. No one else even noticed.”

Saihara looked up. "Wh-What do you mean?"

Ouma rolled their eyes. "The judges loved us. If anything, you made it better, cause apparently holding your arm was a 'beautiful representation of how the sun and the sky need each other', or something. Maybe now there's a rumour that I have a cute boyfriend too, but that's good publicity, so you've done nothing but help me," they said. "Seriously, anxiety's never as obvious as you think."

"But... you noticed.” Saihara tugged at his hair.

"Well, yeah! I'm your partner. Of course I was keeping an eye in you! And it takes one to know one." They shrugged. "Anyway! I told Angie that you're here, so you can stay as long as you need to before you leave. I'm guessing you might want more time to calm down before you question me? I'm staying at the Hau'oli Hotel, so you can find me there." They got to their feet and clapped their hands. "Well, nice working with you!" They turned to leave.

Saihara's hand clasped around Ouma's wrist before he could stop it. "W-Wait,” he said, his voice breathy.

Ouma didn't turn around. "What? You don't want me to go? How sweet."

"I-It's not that, I," he took a deep breath, "I'm not dropping out."

They turned to face him, their expression inscrutable. "Hmmm? You're not going to get anything extra out of me that way, you know."

Saihara shook his head. "No, that's not it. I... I am anxious, but... I don't want to make you throw this contest."

Ouma stared back at him, their lips softly parted. They glanced down at Saihara's hand around their wrist. "There's nothing in it for you," they said, "aside from an eased conscience, maybe."

"I know."

"You're gonna have to do a lot more than just walk in the next round, and even that was enough to make you panic."

"I-I know."

"But you're still saying you'll do it? Even though if we quit now, you'd be able to question me and get on with your investigation?"

"...Yes. Please, Ouma."

Ouma stared blankly at him once more. They tilted their head to one side. A strand of their hair fell down and stuck to their lips. Saihara darted his eyes aside, to the curtains, to the nowhere-to-hide.

As fast as it had come, Ouma's blank expression snapped off like a mask, and they burst into giggles. "You, you really are interesting!" they said through their laughter. They pulled the wrist Saihara was holding, and he stumbled forward. Ouma clapped their hands over his. "Yup, I like you! Even if you're trying to arrest me!"

Saihara's cheeks burned. "I'm not necessarily..."

"No need to lie. It'd be so much easier if I was the thief! You could bully out a confession from me and be on your way," they said.

"Wait.” Saihara’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know I was after the Pokémon thief?"

"I didn't. You just told me!" Ouma stuck out their tongue. "If you're a detective, you really shouldn't fall for that sort of thing so easily." They took their hands from Saihara's. "So, partner, are you ready to get going? Once you've changed, of course."

"Where are we going?"

"To the hotel. We've gotta get ready for tomorrow, duh!" They stretched their arms behind their head. "I'm gonna get changed, but I'll be right outside... Watching... Waiting..." They wriggled their hands and made a ghostly sound.

"Wait, Ouma, do you need help with the, uh," curse his words for failing him, "your dress, again?"

Ouma laughed. "Aww, what a gentleman you are!" They reached behind their back and pulled the zipper down an inch and up again. "I'm a pro. Obviously I can handle this much."

"But- before, you-"

"I never said I actually needed help, did I? But when we work together, it's much better!” They strolled out of the changing room before Saihara could protest and popped their head through the curtain. "You can leave your stuff in here! Toujou will clean it up."

The curtains flopped behind Ouma as they popped back out. Saihara waited a moment, but the dusty air of the contest hall lay still. He smeared his fingers over the metal ridge of the cape's clip.

Pressure dug into his thigh, and he flinched. Litten's golden eyes gazed up at his.

"I'm sorry, Litten," Saihara murmured as he stroked a hand over Litten's fire-black fur. "What kind of trainer gets scared by his own Pokémon? I hope you had fun with Mimikyu, at least."

Litten pulled itself up, kneaded into Saihara, and curled in his lap. The hot belly of fire it held soaked down through Saihara's skin.

He scratched Litten behind the ears. The leader of his anxiety group had said that stroking your Pokémon is calming; as the heat of its fur warmed his fingers, he supposed it was true. After a last deep breath, he brushed the cape from his shoulders, unbuttoned the vest, and shook it off over his shoulders. His hand hovered over the flower before unclipping it and setting it down. He shuffled the clothes into a pile, scooped Litten into his arms, replaced his hat, and slipped out from the curtain.

"Ouma, I'm done," Saihara called. The contest hall hung empty before him. "Ouma?"

Were they not done? Had they left him behind? His breath rose in his chest as he strode forward. "Ouma!"

"Geez, what are you yelling for?"

Saihara whipped around, and yelped upon coming face to face with Ouma. 

Their signature giggle came out more like a wheeze. "I told you I'd be waiting out here, no need to get all worried!" they said as they swayed from side to side. Their small frame shook from the force of their breath.

Saihara narrowed his eyes. "Where did you run off to while I was changing?"

Ouma whistled. "Whoooo, aren't you hard-boiled! I didn't go anywhere!" They paused for a moment. "That's a lie, though. I was practicing my Sonic the Shaymin running skills. You've found me out, my beloved egg detective!"

That was definitely a lie, but who knows what ridiculous story Ouma would replace it with if he tried to press them? Saihara sighed. "If you say so..."

"I do say so! Now, Tails the Fennekin, to the hotel!" Ouma linked an arm through his.

"Is that supposed to be me?" Saihara asked, but Ouma just began humming a song he didn't know as they dragged him deeper into the mess he'd signed himself up for.


	2. Chapter 2

Ouma scrabbled their sandals off and launched themself onto the bed the moment they'd gotten their room key from the door. “Welcome,” bounce, “to my,” bounce, “secret underground clubhouse!”

Summer sun spilled through the window. Saihara sighed. “We're two floors above ground, Ouma.”

“Man, you've got,” bounce, “no imagination.” They landed on their knees and let the bed settle them. “The whole world could be underground for all you know,” they said. “It's more fun than welcoming you to a dinky hotel room for the contest weekend, right? My real underground clubhouse is way cooler. You've gotta shrink down real tiny to get in!”

“Uh, right... “ Saihara shuffled on his feet. 

“Well, don't just stand there.” Ouma pat the space on the bed next to them. “Have a seat, have a seat, officer!”

Saihara slipped off his shoes and slowly perched himself on the corner of the bed. He clasped his fingers over the blanket's edge. “So,” he said, “where do we start? For the contest.”

Ouma grinned. “Aren't you hard working! Don’t worry, I'll draw up a plan for us. You can just rest your pretty little head for now.” They plucked Saihara's hat off. 

“H-Hey–”

Ouma flicked their wrist and sent the hat spinning across the room. “It's rude to wear hats indoors, you know!” They flopped backwards. “Now tell me. What moves do your Pokémon have?”

Saihara sighed and turned to face them. “Togekiss knows Fly, Air Slash, Heal Bell, and Dazzling Gleam. Furret knows Quick Attack, Swift, Sucker Punch and Return.”

“Hm, Hm!” Ouma nodded. “Yup, I can work with that.” They pulled a sketchbook from the side table and rolled onto their belly. The blanket bunched under them, sending ripples through the twin-diamond design. 

Now that Saihara looked, one of them seemed to be a red and white clown’s face. “What's this design?” he asked, as he slipped his notebook from his pocket.

“I'm glad you noticed!” Ouma's eyes shimmered. “It's the logo for my emo band! Runaway orphan clowns, cast out by society, who find family in Pokémon, each other, and the power of music and justice!” They leaned on their palm and tapped a finger to their chin. “Maybe it’s not all that emo. But it'd make a pretty good anime, don't you think?”

“It, uh, probably would.” He copied the logo into his notebook and stared between the rules. “Something like that… would probably have been good for me, as a kid,” he said. “I grew up with my uncle, and I don't have any siblings, so…”

...So, he'd sometimes wished for a lively family, but his voice melted back into his throat. He paused his note-taking. 

Ouma stared back at him, their eyes focused, their lips pressed together, the muscles under their skin not coiled to pounce into the mail-order grin of the hour.

Saihara's therapist had looked at him in a way not unlike this, when in hesitant tongues Saihara had recounted the murder he'd solved. The click of empathy-gears, the petal-brush of calculation; he the product and they the teller, him both naked to their eye and yet behind a screen. 

Saihara reached out and brushed a finger against Ouma's shoulder. They jumped at his touch. “Ah– I'm sorry,” he said as he pulled his hand to his side, “I don't know why I–”

Like air hissing out of a balloon, Ouma giggled, their voice stretched and thin. “Hey, Saihara,” they said as they laced their hands under their chin, “poke my nose next.” Their grin was back, as if a marker line on rubber skin. 

“O-Okay…” said Saihara. He reached a heavy finger out, and paused as Ouma’s dark eyelashes fell closed. It felt wrong to him, somehow, to see thin folds of skin curtain eyes that seemed so alert as to be painful. 

He shook the thought and poked the tip of Ouma's nose; they honked like a clown and snapped their eyes open. Saihara yelped and yanked his hand back. 

Ouma curled over in laughter. “Do you know,” they said, “how long I've wanted to do that? I'm pretty good at sound effects, aren't I!”

“...Well, I'm… glad to have given you that chance,” Saihara said, and smiled despite himself. He cleared his throat. “I'm just– gonna go to the bathroom.”

“Mhm, that's a good idea. Prolly better not to keep binding in this heat, especially after having a panic attack.”

Saihara flinched. He gripped the clown blanket tight under his palm. “Don't– just assume that.”

Ouma clicked their tongue. “I'm right though, aren't I?”

Of course they were. Of course no one would for a second think he was a real boy, not after hearing his voice or being close enough to see the faint trace of thick straps under his shirt. “Whether or not you're right isn't the point. I'm not... like you.”

“Huhh? What's Saihara trying to say? I have no idea,” drawled Ouma. 

“I'm not– I'm not open and,” Saihara let out an exhale, “brave, the way you are.” He stood from the bed, and only caught the sight of Ouma's blank-faced blink for a moment before he closed the bathroom door behind him.

He leaned against the wall, and let out a deep sigh as he slid to the tile. The fluorescent light scattered over the dappled ceramic. 

He pulled his Xtransceiver from his pocket. He could call Officer Kirigiri now, or rather, he should, but his blueberry-tongued voice died on the back of his throat. 

“I've confirmed a suspect. No conclusive evidence yet,” he tapped out a into message, sent it, and let his wrist drop. He wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in himself. 

It was better not to risk being overheard. That was the only reason. His knees pressed burning stars behind his eyes. 

He returned to find Ouma lying on their belly, kicking their legs in the air as they scribbled something down. “Welcome back,” they called without looking up. “You're interesting, you know that?”

Saihara rubbed his eye. “...Huh?”

They turned to face them. “You actually gave an answer I didn't expect. I'm thrilled! Asking really is the best!”

The loose curve of their smile looked almost like it could be pulled open. He shook the thought from his head and sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you enjoy being cryptic?”

“Mhm!”

Saihara sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees. “What did you assume I meant?” he asked. 

Ouma sat up and tapped a finger to their chin. “That I'm not a real boy like you because I'm nonbinary and wear dresses? That I lie about everything, so I'm probably just an attention-seeking little girl?” Their giggle crackled. “That's a lie though, of course. Only trolls online say stuff like that. My partner Saihara would never think such awful things!”

Saihara turned to face Ouma fully and pulled his legs under himself. “Ouma,” he started, “of-of course I wouldn't. You're every bit as real as I am, and… I may not be able to trust that you're not involved with the Popplio theft, but I don't think you'd lie about something like this.”

Ouma's eyes narrowed. The stuffy heat of the hotel room curled under Saihara's collar, breathy fingertips along his skin. He flicked his eyes from their face. 

“Are you thirsty?” Ouma asked. 

“Huh?”

Ouma clapped the sketchbook closed. “I'm done here, so let's stop by the Pokémon Center first and get you some caffeine. You've got an important job to do, after all!”

Saihara stood from the bed. “Wait, Ouma–”

“Sorry Saihara, time waits for nopony!” they said as they shoved their sketchbook into their bag.

They pulled Saihara out of the room and down the patterned-carpet stairs before he even had a chance to retrieve his hat. Both the stares of the bellhops and the unshielded noonday sun overhead burned into him as Ouma held his arm and led him through the asphalt curves of the streets, their eyes fixed ahead of his. 

Saihara breathed a light sigh of relief as he and Ouma entered the familiar frame of the Pokémon Center. He could count on it to be familiar, at least.

“Yo, yo! Joyce!” called Ouma as Nurse Joy welcomed them. They waved a hand in the air as they skipped up to the counter and plopped three strawberries-and-cream Pokéballs into her hands. “I got into a battle against a real Interpol detective! He totally ravished me!”

“That's, um, not true,” said Saihara. He glanced to Ouma. “Do you know her?” he asked.

“I know everyone, including every Nurse Joy in the region,” they said. “Did you know? They all have different names! Nurse Joyce in Hau’oli, Nurse Jodi in Konikoni,” they paused to hum along with the jingle of the recovery machine, “man-stealing Nurse Jolene in Tapu village… the list goes on!” 

Nurse Joy (Joyce?) as she handed their Pokéballs back. “H-Here you are,”

“Thank you!” they sang as they took them. They turned back to Saihara. “That was all a lie, by the way,” they said before scurrying off towards the café corner. 

“W-Well, not all of it,” said Nurse Joy softly as he stared after them. “They do know me... I've seen them here a lot, always with different Pokémon to be healed.”

“Different Pokémon?” Saihara asked as he passed his Pokéballs over. 

She set them into the machine with a click. “Yeah… I think they must trade a lot? Because–” She cupped a hand over her mouth. “N-Nevermind,” she stammered, “please just forget that, okay? I'm so sorry, it's not appropriate to share information about visitors like that,and I shouldn't have noticed in the first place anyway so–”

“No, no, it's okay,” said Saihara. “Don't worry about it.” He took his Pokéballs back from her and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. 

He'd been there all too many times before. A kind word and a radiant smile balmed the beating tide within him; like Kaede’s, her enthusiasm and faith guiding him from his shell, or–

Ouma grinned at Saihara from their perch, clutching their fingers over the stool’s edge. Their smile was nothing like the hesitant curve of his own. 

“Took you long enough!” said Ouma as they swung their legs back and forth. Saihara sat next to them, opting to settle his feet on the stool's bar instead. Ouma pulled their bag to their lap. “My treat!”

“Oh, um, no, that's alright,” Saihara said, fumbling for his wallet, “I can pay.”

Ouma giggled. “So it's your treat? My, my, what a gentleman you are!” They waved the barista over. 

“Alola!” the barista said as he finished wiping down a mug. “So, what will you lovebirds be having?”

Saihara's blood flushed hot under his skin. Ouma just giggled more. “One Tapu Cocoa for me!” They leaned sideways and bopped their head against Saihara's shoulder, the soft flips of their hair brushing against his neck. “Et tu, mon amour?” they purred. 

“I– Um– Ah,” he stammered, “c-coffer?”

Ouma swung themself back up while stifling even more giggles. “Take your time,” they said. 

He couldn't bring himself to look at Ouma’s entirely too amused face nor the barista’s surely impatient one. “A…” The coloured chalk-curls of the hanging menu looped together in and out of legibility. Deep breath, deep breath, center his focus… “K-Komala coffee, please.”

The barista nodded. “You got it. That'll be 396 Pokédollars.”

Right, he had to– he fumbled the metal clasp of his wallet open, but Ouma was already plopping a handful of coins into the barista's hand.

“I win!” They tucked a Mimikyu-print wallet into their bag and turned to face Saihara. “So, are you ready to steal the show tomorrow?” they asked with a wink.

Saihara’s brow furrowed. “Tomorrow… that's not much time to practice,” he said, and held a hand to his chin. “Why would they set the contest up that way?”

“Well, most–” Ouma whooped as the barista slid each of them their drinks. The humming-hot steam entwined into a single cloud until Ouma clasped their fingers around their mug like the teeth of a butterfly barrette and pulled it away. “Most coordinators in Alola practice with a partner ahead of time and sign up together, rather than meeting someone at the contest itself,” they said, and blew on their cocoa so close that a dollop of whipped cream got on their nose.

Hopefully Ouma hadn’t noticed Saihara’s lips twitch upwards. “If that's the case,” he said, “why didn't you?”

“Oh, that's easy. I always play on hard mode! We're in a video game’s world, after all,” said Ouma as they glanced off, as if towards some invisible observer. “A real supreme champion can win even when the dice are weighted and the cards are stacked against them.” They stretched their tongue out and up, grumbled in defeat, and wiped the whipped cream from their nose with the back of their hand. 

“Huh… I guess that makes sense.” Saihara blew ripples across the coffee's liquid skin and sighed into the familiar bitterness as he drank. “That way, no one could dismiss your individual skill.” He ran his thumb along the ceramic heat. “Do you… not like working with others, in general?” he asked. 

Ouma gave a far too cutesy pout. "My most beloved partner," they said, "you're thinking that I don't have any friends, aren't you?"

Saihara set down his coffee. "N-No!" 

He’d been thinking about their willingness to have accomplices in theft, actually. It was hard to imagine what sort of person Ouma would stop messing around with long enough to let them get close; someone with the patience of a saint, that was for sure. 

Ouma giggled. "You've got to work on your Poké-face! You're right. Despite how cute and clever and talented I am, everyone hates me!" They buried their smile in the cocoa mug and blew heat across their cheeks.

"I don't hate you," said Saihara before he could catch himself. "A-And, that girl from the contest... Angie? She praised you too. So... uh..." He raised a hand to tug his hat down, and upon grasping at air, shifted to tugging at his bangs instead.

Ouma hid their face in the mug a moment longer, their eyes unfocused, before popping the mug off their face and grinning til their eyes were lines.

“Aww, aren't you sweet!” They clinked their mug down onto the counter. “That was a lie, obviously. Everyone loves me! Well, maybe not everyone?" Ouma brushed their fingers over their chest and flung their other arm out. "If you love me! If you hate me! You can't save me, baby, baby!" they sang, before lapsing into giggles once more.

The barista clapped. "You've got some pipes, lassie. Here, have a lava cookie on the house."

Saihara couldn't stop himself from flinching.

"Laddie, actually!" said Ouma as they plucked the cookie from the barista's hand. "But I doubt you'd believe that."

He laughed. "You're quite the trickster, huh?"

Should Saihara say something? Could he? Ouma's face was hardened in a plastic smile. "O-Ouma," he started softly, reaching a hand out. 

Ouma thrust the cookie into his hand and hopped to their feet. "Well, I'm bored! We've got work to do." They grabbed Saihara's wrist and dragged him through the soft whir of the center doors. 

The mid-afternoon sun glared high and hot over them. Saihara tucked the cookie into his pocket and shielded his eyes.

Ouma marched forward. “Okay! Now that we've had our break, we can get to work!" they said, as they pulled Saihara by the wrist.

Saihara tugged his hand back. "Wait, Ouma... Are you okay?"

They turned to face him a little too sharply. "Why?" they asked.

His glance faltered to Ouma's feet. The white straps of their sandals were stained with scuffs and mud. "Um, the... at the café..." His voice trailed out. Who did he think he was? He'd already said too much earlier.

Ouma giggled. "Aww, are you worried about me?" Their too-tight grip on Saihara's wrist slackened. "That's adorable. You wanna make sure I have a good day before you arrest me, what a gentleman!"

"That's not what I..." Saihara sighed. "Nevermind. The beach, right?"

"Yup, yup! Off we go! Royal rainbow!" Ouma pointed their arm out.“I'm royalty myself, did you know? Me and my sister,” they said as they kicked a bit of gravel down the street. 

“You… have a sister?” asked Saihara. Who knew what sort of fairy tale Ouma would spin if he pressed the royalty issue. 

“Mhm! But don't you go getting any ideas.” They waggled a finger at him. “Marrying one of us won't make you a prince. She's aromantic, anyway.”

Saihara dashed his gaze to the brush of palm fronds combing the sky’s clouds. “Oh, that's, nice. And you?” he asked.

Ouma let go of his wrist and stopped walking. “Ooh, are you interested? Bend over a little, I'll whisper in your ear.”

The sun over his skin seemed to burn hotter than it had been as he clumsily leaned over. Ouma laced their hands over his shoulder and pushed up onto their toes. Their breath traced the inside of his ear, and with their lips almost grazing his skin–

“I'm gay!” they shouted. Saihara yelped and staggered backwards as Ouma let go of his shoulder and broke into giggles. They threw their arms into the air. “I love boys! I'm a gay ace boy kisser!” 

Saihara's gaze darted to meet the curious eyes swimming around them. “O-Ouma, maybe not so loud,” he said.

Ouma waved to a passerby. “Why not?” they asked, and turned to keep walking. “Everyone already knew that, it’s on my Bulbapedia page. Besides, I'm a champion, I'm royalty, and I've got connections to every big boy in the region. No one could touch me even if they wanted to,” they said. 

Well, he could reach out and poke them again. Saihara hushed the voice in his head and scattered one last glance around. “In that case... do you know Professor Kukui?” he asked. 

“Well, yeah!” Ouma grinned. “He's my dad!”

Saihara stumbled. “Wh–” He took a breath. “That's a lie, isn't it? He showed me a clip of your contest performance back when he gave me Litten. I doubt he’d forget to mention you being his son.”

Both Ouma’s steps and smile faltered for a second so quick that Saihara almost thought he'd imagined it. “That's because it's a secret, silly! When a changeling washes up on the shore with a couple more fingers than necessary, you can't tell just anyone about adopting it,” they said. 

Ouma's hands swung wide at their side, five fingers on each. Saihara’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“Ah, that was a lie, of course.” Ouma splayed their fingers across their face and blinked steel purple eyes through prison bars. “I actually have six toes on each foot!”

“...Right.” Saihara turned his gaze ahead. He wasn't giving them the satisfaction of looking. 

“Anyway, we're here!” Ouma dashed ahead of him to skip down the ramp to the sand. Summer-warm wind blew across Saihara's clammy skin. 

A changeling Ouma surely wasn't, but there was something ethereal about them in the way their body moved, how their violet hair splayed out as if reaching for electricity in the air, how their eyes scanned like glassy substitutions for the real thing. 

Perhaps ephemeral was a better word, for an untouchable form that could diffuse like oil-dew the moment he turned away. Saihara shook his head and followed after them. 

He had seen Hau'oli beach, of course, but he hadn't stepped foot into the hot sand until his steps followed Ouma's. He shifted his weight as he sunk into it.

Ouma threw their Pokéballs into the air one after the other as if they were juggling. Mimikyu, Grumpig, and finally– Saihara squinted as shimmers flooded out of the last ball. Brionne took form, landed next to Ouma with a twirl, and held its flippers in the air. Just as on the poster, a thin scar traced itself along the glimmer of its lavender skin. 

Ouma caught the empty Pokéballs, returned them to their bag, and pet Grumpig’s ear. "Stop gawking at Poppy and get your Pokemon out too!" they said, Mimikyu already on their shoulder.

"R-Right." He unclipped two Pokéballs from his belt and let out Togekiss, who cried in delight at the sun and soared towards the water, and Furret, who shook its head and ran through the sand. 

Ouma stared at him as he clicked the empty balls back onto his belt. "Aren't you gonna let Litten out too? Even if it's done performing, it can have fun playing on the beach." They nuzzled their cheek against Mimikyu. "And I bet Mimi misses its new friend!"

"Oh... Yeah, you're right." Saihara grabbed its Pokéball and sent it out in a flash of light. Litten looked around, kneaded the sand under its paws, and curled up in a ball. Mimi scurried to its side and prodded it with a shadowy claw.

Saihara held a hand over his eyes. He could use his cap about now. The beach almost seemed to glow under the heat, sand swimming in rolls and ocean blending into sky, plastic mushrooms casting shadows over the flood of tourists. The sweat beading his forehead felt heavy against him. 

“Are you… sure this is a good place to practice?” he asked.

Ouma giggled. “Of course! Practicing in front of other people is hard mode, after all. But if you want this to be a bit more romantic, Mimi could scare everyone off the beach?” They batted their eyelashes at him. 

“...That really won't be necessary.” Saihara closed his eyes and breathed in. Hold the breath, one, two, breathe back out. “So. As you put it, I don't know much about contests. How does the performance section work?”

Ouma bopped away from him. “Grumpy! Poppy!” they called out, and clapped their hands. Grumpig and Brionne rushed to their side. “All right!” they shouted in a cutesy voice as they kicked one leg up, flashed a peace sign, and winked at Saihara, “let's go! Poppy, use Bubblebeam, and Grumpy, use Psychic!”

Brionne pushed its front flippers into the sand and shot a cascade of iridescent bubbles that rose into a spiral as it twirled in place. Ouma jumped onto the lowest of the bubbles and bounced into the air as it popped underneath them.

“You're making a silly face, Saihara!” called Ouma as they skipped their way up the bubble staircase, shattering one by one into sparkles of dew. With each skipping step they seemed to grow more weightless, a purple aura shimmering around them growing more intense, until they reached the top and flipped backwards in midair.

“Poppy, Disarming Voice! Grumpy, Toxic!” 

The aura of purple faded from their skin as thick gobs of poison spread across the sand below them, the toxic bubbling up to meet the clear bubbles of water. Ouma plummeted downwards towards Brionne, who sang out in a pink voice that seemed to trace scores of music into the air. The resonance of the sound and the push of the poison popped the bubbles around them. 

Glimmers of purple and blue and pink dew surrounded Ouma as Brionne blew one final bubble to catch their fall. Ouma bounced off it lightly, their feet hit the sand, and in perfect sync with Brionne and Grumpig, they twirled on their toes and spun their arms up and out. Sweat and the last remnants of bubble-dew dotted their forehead, but their smile was idol-dazzling as ever as they panted in place.

Their eyes met Saihara's stare, and the corners of their mouth dropped. “What?” they said, “Are you, too stunned by our sparkle spiral to speak?”

“I, uh,” stammered Saihara, as he clapped his clammy hands together a bit too quickly, “yeah, that was… really great?” 

Ouma pouted. “Praise me more, praise me more!”

“Oh, well,” he fumbled with his hair, “I liked the, uh… It was sparkly?”

Ouma giggled. “Right? Right? You can't go wrong with sparkles, it’s like magic fairy dust! Now, you're probably wondering if you’ll have to perform the way I just did, huh?”

...Yes, the answer was yes, but he didn't want to give them that satisfaction.

“You don't have to worry,” they continued on, “it's not required for the trainer to do anything quite as exciting as that, so you get a pretty boring role. All eyes are gonna be on me!”

It was probably more teasing than a genuine attempt to ease his anxieties, but Saihara's shoulders sagged regardless. “I… should be able to manage that much,” he said. 

Ouma flopped down into the sand and scratched Litten behind its ear. Furret slunk under their other hand and pressed its head against their palm. “So, are you guys ready to practice?” asked Ouma as they stroked Furret. It purred under their touch.

Saihara held a hand to his chin. “First… how are you doing that?” 

Togekiss landed from its flight and leaned against Ouma’s back. “Doing what?” they asked, and tilted their head to one side as they reached a hand to pet Togekiss. 

Saihara made a vague gesture towards his Pokémon crowding around Ouma. “That.”

“Oh!” Ouma laughed and scooped Litten into their lap. It purred like a crackling fire. “I'm just so cute and loveable that people and Pokémon alike can't resist! Haven't you been glued to my side this whole time too?”

“Th-That's not–” Saihara took a breath. “You're under investigation by Interpol, Ouma,” he said.

Ouma shrugged. “I'll take what I can get.” They pulled their sketchbook out. “Alright, let's play! Here, I drew what our routine is gonna look like.”

Saihara knelt down next to them, pulled out his own notebook, and squinted at the crayon scribblings. Ouma pointed at a brown tube shape he could only assume was meant to be his Furret. 

“You've seen my part of the routine already,” Ouma said. “Furret is gonna use Swift alongside Brionne's bubbles. If it circles around Brionne and aims towards the center, the stars shouldn't pop the bubbles before I can.” They dragged their finger across the page. “Togekiss is gonna fly up with you on its back–”

Saihara looked up from his note-taking. “Wait, I thought I wasn't gonna have to do anything, uh, too exciting?”

Ouma shrugged. “You gotta at least look like you're participating. As I was saying, Togekiss is gonna fly up with you, use Dazzling Gleam when I reach the top, and aim it towards the ground behind the bubbles.”

Saihara's breath stumbled over itself. “O-Okay. Furret, Togekiss, do you think we can do this?” he asked. Furret scampered over Ouma's knee and rubbed its cheek against the back of his hand. “I'll take that as a yes.”

Ouma hopped to their feet. Their purple-painted toes sunk into the sand. “Alright, let's do this!”

...They really hadn't been lying about having six toes. Saihara scribbled a barely scrutable ‘polydactyly’ into his notebook before getting up himself. “Where do we start?”

“We'll work on Furret's part first.” They turned to Brionne. “Poppy,” they said, “stand over here, okay?” Brionne followed their gesture and spread their flippers wide. “Alright, Saihara, you're up! As magnetic and charming as I am, Furret's gotta hear it from you.”

“Uh, okay… Furret, try running circles around Brionne,” Saihara said. 

Furret dipped its head towards him and scampered around Brionne, tiny paws kicking up sand in a halo-puff of dust around it. Ouma nodded approvingly, and nudged their head towards Saihara. 

Saihara returned their glance. “Good, now use Swift and-”

Golden starline sparks sprayed out haphazardly from the static of Furret's fur towards them. Saihara yelped and tackled Ouma to the ground. The hot stars hissed across his back. 

Ouma coughed under him. Saihara pushed up onto his elbows. “Are- are you okay?” he asked breathlessly as Furret and Brionne came to their side. 

“Geez, you're dramatic. I get hit with moves all the time, it wouldn't have been a big deal,” grumbled Ouma. Brionne nuzzled their cheek with its nose, and they leaned into the touch. “That's a lie though! Thank you, oh handsome officer!” they said, and wriggled under him. “This is where I'd swoon dramatically, but it's kinda hard to do that when you've got me pinned.”

Saihara scrambled off of them, hot sand burning his palms as blood did his cheeks. “S-Sorry.”

Ouma sat up, threw the back of their hand against their forehead, and flopped against Saihara's side. “Oh my, I'm swooning,” they cooed before standing and shaking the sand from their hair. “Alright, I'm satisfied now.” They held a hand out to him. 

Sun sinking into afternoon heat haloed Ouma’s face, lighting the tips of their hair into bright violet. Their fingers curled over their palm like the spikes of a trap. Saihara's hand eclipsed theirs, and he pulled himself up. 

That augustine sun gleamed Furret's stars as they tried once more,Furret crying out in delight as Ouma whooped for them both; and that heat burned against Saihara's back as he gripped tight to Togekiss's shell-white feathers, the roar of the wind in the evening sun shouting through him. A shower of lavender light exploded behind Ouma and Brionne below. 

The beat of Togekiss’s wings splayed the sand around it outward as it landed. Saihara slipped off its back and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I-I think that was the best one so far,” he said, a smile slipping into his voice.

Ouma dropped from their pose. “Are you kidding?” they panted, “That was awful!” 

Saihara's heart dropped in his throat. 

“Woah, no need to make that face,” Ouma said. “I'm lying, duhh. You were perfect.”

Saihara’s breath spilled out in a huff. “Whatever you say…”

Ouma stood on tiptoes and pat Saihara's head. “So-rry. I should avoid the sensitive spots, huh?”

“It's fine,” Saihara said. It was him who had teabag-thin skin, after all, always letting words drain through him. 

Ouma ruffled his hair. “I hate lies, so don't even bother. “A gentle smile seeped through the shell under their skin. “You really are doing a great job.”

“Th-Thank you,” Saihara said as he knelt down to pet Litten and Furret, “and- for being patient with us, too.”

Ouma laughed. “You're thanking me for being patient with you? That's a new one.” They stretched their arms up to the reddening sky. “Anyway, I think we're done for the day,” they said, and laced their arms behind their head. “Togekiss must be out of PP by now.”

“Are- are you sure?” Saihara asked, and rested a hand on Togekiss’s head. “That we're ready for tomorrow, I mean.”

“We'll have time in the morning to get some extra practice in.” They squatted down to pet Brionne, who pushed their head into their palm. “If you can't trust me, trust in your Pokémon.”

Before Saihara could respond, a pair in black and white outfits sauntered up to them. “Yo yo yo, is that a shiny I see?” said the first. She put her hands on her hips and leered at Brionne. 

“Better give up and hand it over to me!” followed the second as he gesticulated. Litten hissed from Saihara's side. 

“What are you boneheads up to?” Ouma asked as they lazily pet Brionne. “My boy Guzma shut down Team Skull.”

“H-He's not your boy! He's our boy!” sputtered the first grunt as she balled her hands into fists. “And he may have gone boneless, but not us!”

The second grunt threw a Pokéball into the air. A Houndoom burst forth and landed heavily on the sand. It growled and leered golden eyes at Brionne. “You contest wimps can't win in a real Pokémon battle,” said the grunt, “so you should give up and hand over that shiny! Houndoom, use bite!”

Saihara made to move forward, but Ouma jut an arm out in front of him. "Poppy, use Sing into your bubbles!"

Brionne leapt forward and hummed a muffled hymn into the iridescent skin of its bubble. With a thin jet of water, it shot the bubble forwards until it popped against Houndoom’s lunging jaws. The high-pitched voice that filled the bubble resounded out, sending Saihara's hands over his ears. Houndoom staggered on its paws before collapsing into the sand, fast asleep. 

"Wh-What was that?" asked Saihara as Brionne filled another bubble.

Ouma laughed. "All's fair in love and Pokémon!"

The second bubble smacked against the grunt's side as he tried to shake Houndoom awake. Brionne's song rang out once more, and he collapsed forward onto Houndoom, fast asleep. The other grunt turned to run, but Brionne was faster, jetting a third bubble against her back. As quick as it had come, the beach fell silent once more, with nothing but the soft groan of the shore and rhythm of the snores.

Brionne clapped its flippers together and barked. Ouma scooped it into their arms. "That's my little pop star!" they cheered. Brionne nuzzled against their chest– and began to shimmer with a bright light. Its flippers stretched out over Ouma’s shoulders, its tail elongated and brushed against the sand, and a cascade of light swirled out from its head and upwards into a wisp as its muzzle narrowed. Ouma tumbled backwards under its weight as the light faded and left behind the shimmering skin of a blonde Primarina. 

"Woah, Poppy! Now this really, really is interesting!" said Ouma through their giggles as Primarina licked their cheeks. The sun, just starting to set, lit the flow of Primarina’s mane like a candle’s twirl into the sky, cast Ouma's skin in soft orange light, and twinkled off their violet eyes. 

Ouma turned their head towards Saihara. Their hair spilled over their neck. “Don't be too mad that your target evolved again,” they said breathlessly, their chest rising in little pants. Something flipped in his. 

Target? Saihara's head swam. Wingulls cried overhead. Ouma stared back at him, expecting… what? The Primarina at their side hummed and cocked its head, the setting sun catching the sparkles in its skin. 

Shiny Primarina... shiny Popplio theft. That was the only reason he was here with Ouma at all. Was this their strategy? To distract him so thoroughly from his job? 

“S-Sorry, I, uh…” He staggered on his feet. Togekiss nudged him upright. 

“Yup, that's what I thought,” Ouma said, looking too amused for his liking. “The bubbles help to contain it, but Sing is starting to make you sleepy too, huh?”

The sun was too hot on the back of his neck. He stroked Togekiss’s head. “Why… why use the bubbles like that? And why doesn't it affect you?” he asked.

“I have Magic Bounce, obviously.” Ouma ran a hand over Primarina's mane. “And it's more fun! It helps Sing’s terrible accuracy, and combining moves is what coordinators do anyway. And this way, nobody gets hurt! Aren't I sweet?” They batted their eyelashes. 

Saihara sighed and made to respond, but stopped himself. It surely would have been easier to just knock out Houndoom with the perfect type matchup Primarina had.

“You're… considerate in your own way,” he concluded. 

Ouma blinked at him, once, twice, before hauling themself to their feet and brushing the sand off their skirt. “Well, yeah. I'm a little angel. Now c’mon, let's get you back to the hotel.” 

Saihara returned his Pokémon to their balls and, once again, let the warmth of Ouma’s arm lead him. 

He stared at his still-sandy shoes as Ouma waved at the receptionist and squeezed his arm tighter. The carpeted stairs and metal handrails were familiar in their simplicity, as was the mattress under him as he collapsed onto the bed. 

“You're gonna get slobber everywhere, sleepyhead!” said Ouma as Primarina nosed Saihara's side. “And if you fall asleep while binding, you’re gonna kill your ribs.” 

Saihara groaned. “I know…”

A soft lump of fabric hit his head. “Here, you can wear these,” said Ouma. “Go change in the bathroom! Chop chop!”

He pushed himself up on his arms. The Mimikyu-print pajamas flopped from his head. “Is… that okay?” he asked, as he slowly picked them up. 

“Well, yeah. Why else would I offer? I have other pajamas, you know.” They grinned and held up a white nightgown with crisscrossing purple ribbons through the back. “So hurry up!”

“O-Okay.” Saihara shook as he stood, and grazed a hand along the hotel room's wall as he made his way into the bathroom and clicked the door shut. He began to change– his lungs breathed a deep relief after he'd wriggled his binder down over his hips– and found himself leaning back against the wall. 

He'd studied cases in which Pokémon were used to attack humans, and assisted Kirigiri in recovering an agent who'd been frozen solid– thankfully, that hadn't interrupted the tracker in their Xtransceiver. It was his first experience of it himself, though… and yet, he felt fine. He was safe, and could sleep… no need to tangle through the thoughts that battered his brain… 

Saihara shook his head. He couldn't give in to sleep, especially not while half undressed in a suspected criminal’s hotel room. He hushed the rising heat in his cheeks at the thought and slipped the pajama buttons through their holes. 

He clicked the bathroom door closed behind him. “I'm… done,” he said, and tucked himself under the covers before Ouma could look too closely. 

Ouma turned from where they were cutting fruit for Mimikyu and Grumpig. “My my, aren't you making yourself at home!” they said, and held up an apple core by its stem. “Go right to sleep, Saihara White.”

“O-Ouma,” he said, “if your plan was, to escape while I'm asleep, that's not going to work.” 

It would probably be more convincing if he wasn't already under a blanket. 

“Huh? You think I'm the witch who put you to sleep?” They threw the apple core over their shoulder. “Obviously I'm the prince who kisses you back to life,” they said as they knelt down and held out an apple slice to Mimikyu, who scooped it up with a shadowy claw and pulled it under its cloth. “That's a lie though. Have you seen how boring the prince is in that one? As if!”

Saihara grumbled. “Don't change the subject… you have run off before. It's reasonable to suspect you'd do so again,” he said. 

Ouma threw their hands up. “Wee-woo, you got me!” They rolled their eyes. “Poppy's already asleep. As if I'd leave my beloved Pokémon alone with you!”

Saihara rolled his head to the left; sure enough, Primarina’s chest rose and fell in the rhythm of the sea’s waves. “Your Pokémon sleep in bed with you?” he asked. 

Ouma held an affronted hand to their chest. “Of course! Babies need the warmth of their parent to grow!” They tut-tutted and hugged Mimikyu close. “I'll cuddle you too, Saihara. I bet you're more than a little touch starved.” They started to giggle, but stopped soon after it started, and made their way to Saihara's side. “Hello-o?” they called, “are you still here?”

“Here… yeah.” Saihara shuffled over. “There's room, so… sleep here.”

Ouma stared down at him, and stifled a giggle. “Okay, if you say so!” They flopped belly-first in the middle of the bed. The mattress dipping under them pulled Saihara the slightest bit closer. 

Ouma rolled to face him and bunched the duvet between their hands. “Nice try! It'll take more than that to psyche me out.” They scooched towards him, til the tip of their nose began to blur. “Don't underestimate how shameless I am,” they whispered. The soft puff of their breath ghosted against his lips. 

They were close enough to kiss him. He'd been kissed by someone he'd barely just met before, and felt nothing but a free-floating confusion at the sudden touch of skin softer than a fingertip; but this felt different somehow, his breath in his chest and his heartbeat under his neck, like he'd been trying to figure Ouma out for a lifetime, in a fairytale world of make believe. His eyelids fluttered closed.

The mattress shifted under him, and he couldn't feel Ouma's breath anymore. “What, you're too tired to react?” they said, their enunciation just the slightest bit off. Saihara forced his heavy eyes open. Ouma looked down at him with their legs dangling over the bedside. “Boring.” 

They turned away from him, and began to push off the bed; Saihara reached out and linked his finger and thumb around their wrist. “Wait, “ he said, “don't– try to sneak off. Stay where I can see you.”

That sounded logical enough, sure, for he'd be woken up by their movement if they did make a break for it, but even to his own ears it sounded like an excuse for– what? 

Ouma's skin, tensed under his touch, felt almost not alive. Curls of black-painted purple brushed over their shoulder. Ouma stared at him, their face again still, their lips again flat, their eyes again behind a screen. 

Slowly, Saihara brushed his thumb against their skin, as if their wrist would snap were he to pull them any closer. 

“Oh, I get it,” said Ouma, their affect flat, “you're handcuffing me, huh. That's cute.” With a soundless sigh on their lips, they sunk themself back down into the mattress, and rolled their head to meet Saihara's eyes. 

Saihara's loose grip faltered open, like a bangle on their wrist. “I–”

“Maybe I was born to meet you,” said Ouma, their voice smoking through him, as if to pull something from the roof of his mouth, the depth of his throat, or diving inside, silk-gloved fingers tracing the texture of his teeth as they poured him open, sending his breath up through his head and sweat hot down his neck. His breath caught on words he didn't know he held. 

“Aha.” Ouma's lips peeled upwards. “Just kidding. You don't watch much anime, do you,” they said, and the smile fell from their face. “Goodnight, my beloved partner Saihara.”

They turned away, the crosses of ribbon down their back a midnight garden’s gate, and pulled their wrist free.


End file.
